The Velveteen Prisoners
by Abracadebra
Summary: They couldn't take it any more: The tight quarters. The dreary conditions. The oppressive smells. From deep inside the clothes hamper in Barracks 2, an escape is being hatched by three plucky chaps whose sacred mission is to render comfort to grown men, whether they like it or not. (Challenge #373.) It was blast to write and won two Papa Bear Gold Awards: Unique Story & Best Teaser
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: You probably have to read at least the last quarter of "Schlafen Sie Gut" to make any sense of this, starting with the part where Schultz brings Newkirk a gift. Sorry about that.

**H=H=H=H=H**

"I can't bloody well breathe. I don't know how you two can stand it down here." The newcomer smoothed out his coat and ran a hand through his soft reddish-brown hair. "How long have you been in this prison, anyway?"

"Months. You get used to it. Now sit. We need to listen."

"Well, who died and made you boss? Who are you, the ruddy King of England?"

"I'm American."

"Well, the bloody President then?" The green-eyed newcomer huffed as a pair of chocolate brown eyes stared back at him. The speaker, twice his size and with hair black as night, folded his arms and looked annoyed. "Sit. Be quiet. I need to think." There wasn't much room, but he started to pace.

"What are you doing?" the newcomer said as he tucked himself in a corner. "What's he doing? Why does he get to move about?" he asked the small chap at his side. Oh, why on earth was he asking _him_? The little fellow had obeyed instantly the first time the word "sit" was uttered. What a good boy, he thought, rolling his eyes.

"He does this constantly. You get used to it," the small fellow replied, scratching his ear with his hind leg. Then he stopped, suddenly detecting a sound. "_Tais-toi_! I hear someone coming."

They all looked up. Above them, through a tangle of undershirts, shorts and socks, they could see a pair of human hands, shoving another item of clothing into their crowded cell.

"_Oh, la puanteur. Quelle odeur terrible!_"

The newcomer stared at the small fellow. "It's only his nightshirt. It's not his fault that he's been wearing it for days. And you should talk. You're a ruddy dog. You have that doggy smell."

"That's a terrible thing to say."

"Well, it's true!"

"Yes, but it's still a terrible thing to say." The dog slumped against his new companion. "And you're no bouquet of roses yourself. I could smell you from half a mile off.* What are you, anyway?"

"Are you mad? You can't tell?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, the light is very poor in here. I mean, we ARE at the bottom of a clothes hamper," the dog replied.

"I'm a fox! Swift, cunning and discerning."

"And sneaky, boastful and reckless," said the larger fellow, who clearly fancied himself their leader. "Now shut up. I'm a bear, and I can eat you both for lunch."

The fox rolled his eyes, but he did as he was told. He fiddled with the buttons on his waistcoat, then pulled on a thread and started twisting it.

"Can't you sit still?" the bear asked.

"I like to keep my paws busy," the fox replied nervously. The bear was starting to worry him.

The bear looked him over, sighed, and then turned around to scrabble through a small pile of junk that had fallen out of pockets and landed at the bottom of the hamper. "Here, take this."

"What is it?" the dog asked with interest, thumping his tail as he peered over the fox's shoulder.

"It's a farthing! Ooh, that's lovely. Thanks, Guv!" The coin filled the fox's paw nicely as he turned it over and over, playing with it. "Look, I can spin it. I can hide it! I can do tricks with it! Well, I could do if I had thumbs!"

"Have at it," the bear said with a wave. "OK, fox, listen up. You're right. We're suffocating in this prison. They took all the clothes out on laundry day, and that helped a little, but they keep shoving stuff in on top of us."

"That's because it's too cold and wet out to do laundry. It's Thanksgiving, you know. November 25, 1943," the fox said cleverly.

"What do you know about Thanksgiving? You're British, aren't you?" The bear looked skeptical indeed.

"Well, yes, but the chap I was with up above only stuck me down here because it was time for the Yanks to have their Thanksgiving dinner. He said he needed me out of sight, and he'd be back later. He's been bedridden nearly a week, and it'll be his first solid meal. He's British too, but he's dead keen on mash and gravy," the fox said, nodding seriously. "Listen to them. They seem to be enjoying themselves."

The trio went quiet. They were indeed having a good time in the world outside the hamper. Several voices were chattering at the same time, and there was lots of laughter.

The bear was looking at the fox thoughtfully. "You said he's coming back for you? He actually said that?"

"That's what he said, mate."

"And you believed him? You trusted him?" The bear scoffed.

The fox opened his mouth to answer, but the dog beat him to it. "Of course he believed him, Papa Bear. We must be loyal to our humans."

"Only if they are loyal to us, Lucky," Papa Bear—for that was indeed his name—replied. He shook his head. "No. They'll be back when they need us. Not a moment sooner."

"He needs me! He's been very ill!" the fox protested. "We're close! We cuddled!"

Papa Bear shook his head. "No. He's embarrassed by you. This happens every single time. Our mission is to comfort them. They love us for a time, then as soon as they are well, they cast us aside. If we are very lucky, they will remember us next time they need us."

"That's bloody depressing. He told me he'd be back for me. I was promised."

"He will! He will! I feel it in my heart!" The dog thumped his tail again.

Papa Bear shook his head. "Oh, yeah, just like _your_ human?"

The dog growled. "He sneaks a peek at me now and then, and he picked me up just five days ago. He said he was checking on me. He knows I'm here," he snapped. "You're just jealous. Your human never gives you a second glance."

"He can't afford to look weak," Papa Bear huffed. "Colonels can't have cuddly toys."

"He seemed perfectly fine with you when we were both dying of the flu!" the dog snarled.

Papa Bear shook his head again. "We weren't dying, Lucky. If it hadn't been for the toymaker, my human would have never needed me in the first place, and I'm fine with that. I understand the burden of command." His expression softened, and he patted Lucky on the head. "I swear, you dogs. All heart, no brains. No wonder humans love you. But you annoy the crap out of me," he said softly.

The dog bared his teeth at that remark, and the bear reared back. "Sorry, sorry, that was harsh, Lucky."

"_Chanceux_. Say it properly," the dog demanded.

"OK, OK, _Chanceux_," the bear said with a grin, his paws held up in surrender. "Boy, you're feisty. I like that about you." He turned to the fox. "He's something, isn't he? What do they call you, pal?"

The fox looked from the dog to Papa Bear and back again with newfound respect. "My name is Mr. Tod," he said. He tried to be neutral, but he couldn't help it. With a first name like "Mr.," who wouldn't be proud?

"Monsieur? I don't think so," the dog said. He was in a mood now.

"We'll just call you 'Tod,' buddy," the bear said. "We're pretty informal around here."

Tod shrugged. Fine. He craved respect, but he didn't expect it—certainly not from a ruddy American bear.

"OK, Pops," Tod said. "What do you suggest?"

"It's Papa Bear. And our only hope is to escape. This is how we're gonna do it."

* * *

_*"Nobody could call Mr. Tod 'nice.' The rabbits could not bear him; they could smell him half a mile off." – From "_The Tale of Mr. Tod_," by Beatrix Potter. Recited by a young Peter Newkirk in "In the Name of the Father," chapter 9, and recalled by an older one in "Schlafen Sie Gut."_


	2. Chapter 2

"Look, mate, I'm sure you have a brilliant plan, but maybe we ought to think this though," Tod said.

Papa Bear was studiously ignoring him. "Getting out is the easy part," he said as he paced. "I'm a bear. I can climb this hamper, and I can cut a hole in the bottom to release you two. Actually, I won't have to. There's this guy out there, Felix. If we ask him nicely, he'll chew through the hamper for us. Sweet kid."

Tod went on. "Look around! These aren't such bad lodgings. There's a nice corner for each of us, and one to spare in case a lovely little vixen comes strolling in. Or a sow, or a bitch…" he said with generosity toward his companions. "Different strokes, mates. Anyway, you're all grand company, and they're bound to do the laundry upstairs once in a while, so the air quality will improve. Let's just wait and see what tomorrow brings."

"Just let me know what you guys decide," Chanceux said. "I'm with you all the way."

"Good boy!" Tod said. He was pacing now, too, stroking his whiskery chin and trying not to bump into Papa Bear. "Now, the way I see it is we should just settle down in here, maybe play some interesting games, have a nice long kip." He gestured to Papa Bear. "I hear hibernation is quite popular with your lot, Sir. The spring will come around, life will be sunny again, and Bob's your uncle!" He smiled brightly.

Papa Bear was lost in thought as he clutched himself. "Bob's my human, actually. Or Rob. I can't keep it straight. Yeah. Yeah. I can get us all out. The tricky part is what we _do_ when we're out. How do we fulfill our mission…"

"What mission?" Tod said, splaying his hands widely.

The bear turned on the fox. "Haven't you been listening? Well, listen up and listen good, _Mister _Tod. We are Stuffed Animals. Noble and beloved creatures. We have one mission in life, and that is to give comfort. And there's only one way we can fulfill that mission," Papa Bear said.

"No. Don't say it," Chanceux said, his ears back and his tail down.

"Face it, Lucky! We've tried being patient, but our number's up," the bear said sternly. "We're not going to sit here and molt. We _have_ to do something!"

"No! No! It wouldn't be loyal!" Chanceux said as he quaked. Suddenly his ears twitched forward. "_Qu'est ce que c'est_, 'molt,' Papa Bear?"

The bear was too preoccupied to answer. Tod looked anxiously at his two companions. "Come on now, Guv," he said with a nervous laugh. "Surely you don't mean what I think you mean."

"Yes, I mean it," Papa Bear said, crossing his arms and reaching as far around his pudgy bear belly as he could go, which wasn't far. "Somebody out there is going to have to get hurt. Or very, very sick."

"No! No!" Tod exploded. "My chap, he just got better! He was in a lot of pain and could have died! You can't make him ill again. I'm sorry, Sir, but I won't hear of it." He waved the idea away with a flick of his fingers.

"We could just injure him," Papa Bear said soothingly. "Then he would need you." He gestured from side to side. "Hurt, comfort. Hurt, comfort. You can't have one without the other."

Tod looked down and bristled his whiskers. Chin still down, he looked up at Papa Bear. "He needs me now," he said softly. "He's always needed me. He just doesn't like to … admit it."

"My human is the same," Chanceux said sadly.

"No, believe me, mine is much worse," Tod said. "Very closed off emotionally, and he's been hurt a lot. The stories I could tell you lads! So many stories. Broken bones, measles, gunshot wounds, sometimes all at once! Pneumonia, torture, blindness, more pneumonia, tonsillitis…"

"Tonsillitis? That doesn't sound so bad," Papa Bear scoffed. "My guy's been through worse than that. He's been paralyzed!"

"The way my chap got it, it was serious! It was _deadly_ tonsillitis! And don't scoff. It's what brought us together." He sniffled at the memory, so near and yet so far.

"Enough with the symptoms," Papa Bear said dismissively. "The point is, do you guys want to bust out of this cell or don't you?"

"All right, yeah," Tod said. "Freedom's good. Go to the pub, chat up a nice little vixen…"

"Aw, shut up about the vixens," Papa Bear muttered. "And that's a direct order."

"You're one to talk," Tod snapped back. "I least I stick with my own species. I've heard about you and that … Tiger," he spat.

"You do your thing, I'll do mine," Papa Bear said. He waved his arms in a wide gesture. "We're all _Order Carnivora, _Pal. I've heard you're into _Class Aves_."

"You're confusing me with my human," Tod grumbled.

Chanceux was paying no attention to the squabble. "I like outside!" he said. "Running, jumping, playing, snooping around the garbage for kitchen scraps! _Dis donc_!" He wagged his tailed energetically.

"All right. We go out tonight. We've some pain to inflict," Papa Bear said decisively.

* * *

_"_Chanceux_" is French for "Lucky." LeBeau claimed this adjective for himself in "Schlafen Sie Gut."_

_"_Class Aves_" is, um, birds. See what I did there?_

Dis donc_ is more or less "wow!" or "say what!" if you want to be literal about. A good, all purpose, energetic French exclamation._

_Oh, and a female bear is indeed a "sow." You could look it up. I did, and I was surprised!_


	3. Chapter 3

Papa Bear was right. The climb was a breeze for him, and everyone in the barracks was so stuffed from Thanksgiving dinner that no one noticed a plush black bear poking his head out of the hamper shortly after lights out.

He spotted Felix and coaxed him over with some crumbs that had been scattered from the table. "Can you chew a hole through the bottom of our cell?" he whispered. "It's gotta be big enough to get my team out."

"Oh, you betcha, boy! I mean, Sir," Felix replied. The mouse reminded himself that he was addressing a bear, and bears—stuffed or not—had a certain natural authority over woodland creatures. Size and claws accounted for that, no doubt. "How soon do you need it?" Felix asked politely, remembering his manners.

"That depends. Is there a mission tonight?"

"Yep! I mean, yes, Sir. Hogan leaves at 11 P.M. LeBeau will be up to see him off and make sure he's not missed."

"LeBeau. That's Lucky's human. OK, first victim."

**H=H=H=H=H**

Felix started gnawing as soon as lights were out. Soon, the barracks room was dark and quiet, except for soft snoring sounds, and by the time it was 10 pm he had liberated Tod and Lucky from their prison cell. Tod stretched extravagantly, grumbling about everything and nothing. Lucky ran around in circles yapping until Papa Bear grabbed him by the collar and quieted him down.

Tod immediately turned his attention to scolding Lucky. "Good thing you're small, mate. They'll all hear you if you don't shut your gob," he groused, waving a hand at all the bunks stacked with dozing humans. He froze for a moment as his human and the one sleeping in the bunk beneath his tossed in their sleep. "See?" Tod hissed. "You almost woke them!"

"It's not the volume, it's the frequency," Papa Bear interjected wearily. "And you're definitely not helping, Tod. Come on, you guys. I need a little discipline around here. We have an hour before my human leaves on his mission. Our first challenge is to reunite LeBeau with Lucky here."

"I get to go first? Je suis très chanceux!"

"Then me, Guv?" Tod was looking forward to a little chance to stretch out in his bunk.

"We'll see," Papa Bear said. "Let's go one step at a time."

"Right-o," Tod said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "What our first step, then?"

"I'll let you know the minute I think of it," Papa Bear replied.

Tod rolled his eyes and grabbed Lucky by the scruff of the neck. Together they slid down to sit on the floor near the hamper and watched as Papa Bear paced, deep in thought.

**H=H=H=H=H  
**

"Tod! Tod!" Papa Bear was whispering fiercely into the fox's ear. Tod awoke startled, and was about to emit a high-pitched scream when Papa Bear clamped a paw over his mouth. "Shh! Shh! You'll wake the whole barracks! I've heard how you foxes scream at night."

"Well, you might try warning a lad before you rouse him out a perfectly good sleep," Tod snarled. "Blimey."

"All right, all right. Wake Lucky up, but do it quietly. Then I need a distraction," Papa Bear said.

"Right-o, Guv," Tod reacted. He shook Lucky gently by the shoulder, then scratched his ears until he was up and stretching. Lucky yawned extravagantly, then settled back down to rest.

"All right, you two," Papa Bear said. "My human—the Colonel, that is—has already gone out the tunnel. And that one"—he pointed to LeBeau, who was lolling at the table, trying to stay awake—"is minding the shop until he gets back. I'm pretty sure we take care of him before the Colonel returns."

"Take care of him?" Tod repeated with a sly grin on his face. "Exactly what did you have in mind, Sir?"

"We're taking him down," Papa Bear replied.

"Won't that endanger the Colonel?" Lucky asked. "That doesn't seem loyal to me."

"Don't worry. There's more to the plan," Papa Bear said. "OK, Tod, first thing is for you to do a little redirection. Then, Lucky, I need you to…"

**H=H=H=H=H**

It was at just that moment that LeBeau started wriggling about, desperate to stay awake. The stuffed animals froze in place.

LeBeau was exhausted, but nevertheless he was committed to his mission. He rolled his shoulders as he yawned, and thought of putting on a pot of coffee. But, he realized, the scent would wake the entire barracks, and he wasn't in any mood to host a _kaffeeklatsch_. No. There was only one way to get through the next two hours. He would require company.

He rose to his feet and swept his eyes around the barracks at the sleeping men.

"Shadows! Now!" Papa Bear commanded. He slammed Tod into the hamper, a large paw across his chest. Tod, in turn, lifted up Lucky and muzzled him with a dexterous paw.

LeBeau, fortunately, hadn't noticed. He was too deep in thought.

He pondered Sergeant Kinchloe, sleeping soundly on the bottom bunk over the tunnel entrance. Kinch would be good, sober company, LeBeau thought. Perhaps they could play checkers or chess until the Colonel returned. No, LeBeau decided as Kinch let out a rattling snore and turned over. He never gets enough rest at night. Leave him be.

Then there was Carter. He was inches away and would awaken quietly and easily. But then he'd stumble into something and knock something down. Or he'd want to talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. Everyone would be complaining and no one would rest. It couldn't be Carter. Not at night time.

He glanced up at Newkirk and quickly dismissed the idea. Too grouchy. But as his eyes traveled around the room in search of a suitable companion who would understand the importance of supporting the mission, no one really fit the bill. Oh, Garlotti or Addison or Goldman would help the minute they understood LeBeau's job was simply to be alert until Hogan got back. But honestly, what would they do but stare at one another? He needed company to stay awake.

Reluctantly, LeBeau's attention returned to Newkirk. Waking him would be the worst part, followed closely by the ordeal of listening to him gripe for the next fifteen minutes. The complaints would resume after morning roll call. But … well, LeBeau was used to screening out Newkirk's grousing. Newkirk, he decided, was the best companion, would stand behind the mission and might even have some fun up his sleeve once he was conscious.

LeBeau rose to his feet, balanced on the edge of Carter's bunk, and prepared to slap his hand over Newkirk's mouth. Then he tugged his blanket.

In the shadow of the laundry hamper, a dog, a fox and a bear braced themselves and tensely watched what happened next.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mmmph! Mmmph! Mmmph!" Newkirk thrashed wildly in his bunk as LeBeau tugged at his blanket and clapped a hand down over his mouth.

"Newkirk! It's just me, LeBeau!" the Frenchman whispered urgently. Newkirk continued to twist. His arm lashed LeBeau's face, sending him slipping, wobbling and struggling to maintain a foothold on the edge of the bunk.

"Stop it, you imbecile!" LeBeau snapped at Newkirk. "Why do you wake up like this? What is wrong with you?" As he scrambled to regain his footing, LeBeau kicked a slumbering Carter in the ribs.

"What's going on?" Carter said with a low moan as he came to.

Newkirk wasn't fully conscious, and the sound of a second voice provoked new angst. He sensed danger. He clutched blindly at his bedside intruder and grasped for his throat. LeBeau dodged to one side and then the other to avoid strangulation. Half-awake, Newkirk lunged toward him, and suddenly both men were crashing to the floor. They landed with a thud, skulls banging together.

Carter climbed gingerly out of his bed, stepping over Newkirk, who was splayed atop LeBeau. Now Kinch was up too. He separated the bodies, pulling LeBeau to safety from beneath Newkirk's bulk, and examined the damage while Carter assessed Newkirk's condition.

"Is LeBeau unconscious too?" Carter asked Kinch.

"Yup," Kinch said. "I think they knocked each other out. Let's get them both back to bed."

"We'll have to put Newkirk in my bunk. I'm not lifting him," Carter said.

"Good idea," Kinch replied. "We don't need him landing on anyone else. He's not as light as he used to be."

In the shadow of the hamper, Papa Bear and his team watched in amazement. "They're injured, and we didn't do it," the bear marveled.

**H=H=H=H=H**

Thirty minutes later, Kinch and Carter had wiped the blood off two skulls and respective noses and applied cold compresses. They were binding up LeBeau's broken ribs and evaluating Newkirk's busted lip when the bunkbed mechanism rattled. Kinch put down the bandages and banged the bunk to let Colonel Hogan up.

"What the heck?" Hogan said as he surveyed the scene. Newkirk was wrapped in gauze, bleeding from the mouth and sprawled in Carter's bunk. LeBeau was in his bunk, shirtless, with gauze around his head and mid-section and blood stains on his mattress. "Don't tell me."

"Best we can figure, Sir, LeBeau was trying to wake up Newkirk," Kinch began.

"You know what that's like, Sir," Carter said, eyes wide.

"Next thing we knew they were both on the floor," Kinch continued. "Apparently Newkirk fell out of bed on top of LeBeau."

Hogan sighed. "Has Wilson been here?"

"Not yet, Sir," Kinch replied.

"What's the damage?" Hogan asked, peering down at Newkirk. "Besides that black eye," he added.

"Two concussions, two bloody noses, a couple of broken ribs for LeBeau and a split lip for Newkirk," Kinch said.

Hogan was across the room now, sizing up LeBeau's injuries. He let out a deep breath.

"All right, all right. You guys go back to bed. I'll stay up. I guess we need to check their responses every hour."

"Yup," Kinch said. "That's the drill with a concussion. You sure you want to stay up, Sir? I can do it."

"Naw. Get some sleep, Kinch. I'm already awake." Hogan took a seat at the bench and shook his head, then sighed. He watched as Kinch and Carter settled back into bed, then closed his eyes and said a little prayer for the injured members of his team. "God, make them less stupid," he prayed. "And please let me laugh at this in the morning. Amen." He leaned into the table and dozed.

Then he heard a rustle. His eyes sprang open, and if he hadn't known better, he would have sworn that something at the base of the hamper had just moved. He got up to investigate.

He reached down and picked up one, two, and then a third object. "Well, I'll be," he said. "Where have you guys been?" He set them down on the table and admired them. A feisty little dog. A sly fox. A solemn bear.

He tiptoed over to LeBeau's bunk and tucked the dog under his arm, shook his head and gently patted the Frenchman. He sidled up to Newkirk, slid the fox under his blanket and onto his chest, smirked and tucked up the blankets. He picked up the bear and took a good look at him.

"Nice to see you again, buddy," he said softly. He stroked his head, then sat him on the table and patted him. "Good bear. You can help me watch over these dopes."

If the light had been a little brighter Hogan might have noticed a few other things. A little dog snuggling just a bit closer to his human. A little fox creeping into his human's grip. And a little bear, smiling triumphantly. They were reunited with their humans and hadn't had to inflict a single injury. The humans got hurt all by themselves.

Let the comforting commence, Papa Bear thought to himself as he inched closer to Colonel Hogan.

* * *

_Newkirk's thrashing about is canon: "Reservations Are Required," s1e15._


End file.
